Blips in the data
by This.Is.My.Katharsis
Summary: Bruce Wayne's social life takes a front seat. The Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital is going to present some interesting challenges, even more than fighting crime, for Brucie.
1. Champagne and Blood

My romantic rant after watching Dark Knight. First off, I don't intend this to be a grand tale. I like to take breaks on my real stories and do little novellas to hone my skill. This is my next one, staring Bruce Wayne, because Christian Bale is just too awesome. I love criticism, within reason ! And I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it.

Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital.

Keeping the secret of Harvey Dent's last actions was proving more difficult than Bruce Wayne had imagined. Since Gotham General Hospital was blown to the ground there were efforts to rebuild a new hospital on its bones: Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital.

He didn't blame them for what they were doing. They didn't know the truth of what their hero had done and that had been the whole point of Batman's sacrifice. These were the people who were trying to focus on the sacrifice of a hero, to give Gotham some hope. Bruce Wayne couldn't object to that noble end. Even so, Bruce Wayne was finding it difficult to keep Batman's secret.

Every time he heard Dent's name, and it was so frequent, it was like being pulled from the carefree pleasure of playing the heir to a fortune, and back into the care laden world of the Batman. In addition, though this Bruce had expected, the public was more critical of Batman than ever. He was as hated as Dent was loved. Sometimes, no matter how hard he pushed it away, Joker's voice would creep into his head and whisper, "given the chance they will hate you."

As if he could prove to everyone that he didn't care, he pushed away the thoughts and reminded himself that, given the opportunity, he would make the same choice as he had to take Dent's place on the cross of public slander.

Batman had not disappeared. He still prowled Gotham's streets, leaving thugs tied up for the police to find in the morning. Batman was on vacation; but he didn't let the scum of Gotham forget that he was still out there.

As such, Bruce Wayne had more opportunities for public appearances and his current project was helping raise the funds for Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital. It stung a little; but Bruce Wayne was not willing to let the name of Wayne fall as far as that of the Batman.

He had volunteered his pent house, yet again, as the place for the initial revealing of the blue prints to Gotham's elite and wealthy and the press. There would be many more fundraisers and checks to be written; but this was the first step.

Over breakfast, as always, Bruce and Alfred had painstakingly discussed Bruce Wayne's social agenda.

"With the Batman taking a vacation Bruce Wayne ought to have more time for public appearances."

"And less time to wait away scandal," Bruce had added.

"Well I guess the illegitimate love child will have to be put under reserve then."

Bruce had, for the first time in a long time, made a conventional entrance. He had greeted everyone as they came through the door, with another beautiful model occupying the space at his side. With a glass of champagne in one hand he urged his guests to drink up because the proceeds were going towards something "very special." Shaking hands and repeating names was Bruce's agenda for the whole evening and it was a task he endured, rather than relished.

Bruce tried to remember his father, to replicate the man's ease with the crowd, the way he walked and drew the gazes of everyone in the room. In the foreseeable future, this was the way he would be most able to help Gotham recover. Until Batman could help, Bruce Wayne would have to do.

When the last of the press had arrived and the ever-late business tycoons as well, almost two hours, Bruce had nodded at Mrs. Morrison, a wealthy widow who had been a part of any major philanthropic event in Gotham for the past three decades.

A small podium had been set up at the head of the room and, with a nod from Bruce, Alfred had gotten the press set up in the audience. The guests were cleared into the room and there was only light conversation as everyone wondered what this grand new project was.

Bruce left his date to herself, the cover model didn't seem to mind, and escorted Mrs. Morrison to the front of the room. Everyone quieted as he stepped up to the podium, with Mrs. Morrison just behind him.

"Guests, members of the press." The cameras flashed and Bruce focused on a spot on the back wall to avoid being blinded. "I'm glad you all could make it to our somewhat unconventional press conference/ party/ fundraiser. And I must say the turn out is much better than I expected after my last party." Polite laughter. Bruce could tell he was poking an uneasy spot with the crowd.

"When Mrs. Morrison approached me about her next philanthropic endeavor she wished to undertake, and offered me a seat on the committee," Bruce added, "I was excited and eager to begin immediate preparations. For those of you who don't yet know the details of Mrs. Morrison's plan let me assure you," Bruce smiled, "they are a credit to her taste and experience and I am flattered to be a part of them.

"I immediately offered the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor as the location for its public reveal," the camera's flashed as the crowd got silent, adding a tension to the pause. "But Mrs. Morrison requested that we hold it here." The room quieted and more cameras flashed, no one had forgotten what had happened here at Bruce's last party.

"Needless to say I was a little confused as to why; but when she explained her reasoning I was touched and realized why she writes the checks and why I sign them." Polite laughter. "Now let me introduce Gotham's most generous benefactor, who eats, sleeps, and breathes Gotham, with its best interests at heart, Mrs. Carolina Morrison."

The crowd applauded as Mrs. Morrison traded Bruce places. As Bruce turned back to face them, glad that his speaking part was done, he could see in the eyes of the crowd the adoration they held for this woman. At nearly 68, Mrs. Morrison was Gotham's caring grandmother. She was one of the people who saved Gotham the way that Batman couldn't and Harvey Dent had.

"Friends, it's an honor to stand before you here, and I wish to dispel the curiosity about why we meet here, on this tragic battlefield without pause." The crowd got silent again.

"Many of you were present on that night last spring; and all of you remember what happened. I want you to do something difficult, that we have all tried to avoid. I want you to think about what happened here." A pin could have been heard dropping as everyone in the room thought about the night when Gotham had begun a descent towards chaos.

"I want you to remember the hopelessness, remember the despair, and most of all, I want you to remember the fear. That night fear stole into our hearts and began a period where much hope was lost; but friends, we must bring it back, because only hope can drive out fear.

"I remember well, the first night that I met Harvey Dent." The room got positively silent and even the clicking of cameras was quieted. "We talked and I was taken by the sincerity and humility of the man from the campaign posters and I remember what he told me when I poked a little fun at his campaign slogan, 'I believe in Harvey Dent'. He told me that he had wanted his slogan to be 'I believe in Gotham'; but that it was changed by other members of the campaign.

"Since the passing of our beloved Harvey Dent, Gotham has come to a crossroads. We all believed in Harvey Dent; but he is gone, and it's time to choose whether our belief… our hope has gone with him, or whether we are going to honor what he stood for.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I believed in Harvey Dent and now I believe in Gotham." The hired help wheeled forward a table with a white tablecloth covering the slanted diorama. "It's time to let go of fear and continue the fight for Gotham City. Here, in this room, last spring, hope lost the battle against fear. So it is here that I wanted to plant the seeds of hope anew. My friends, I present to you, Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital." She pulled back the table cloth and revealed the hospital model.

Cameras flashed like mad and the crowd burst into applause.

Bruce clapped wholeheartedly along with everyone in the audience and felt the satisfaction that came from weeks of caterers and meetings.

It took almost three whole minutes for the clapping to die down so that the Q&A session could begin. Most of the guests went back into the other rooms, not interested in the details since they would only be donating anyway and the press began its questions.

They hung on Mrs. Morrison's every word as she introduced the other members of the committee; but mercifully Bruce didn't have to talk much and after another hour he was set free. Suddenly playing the host didn't seem so bad anymore.

Upon emerging into the other room Alfred carried over another glass of champagne and Bruce was reminded why he loved the old man. "I'm afraid to report Mr. Wayne that Ms. Palmer was driven home by Mr. Grange." After downing the glass Bruce looked back up.

"Who?"

"Ms. Palmer." Bruce gave Alfred a blank look. "The cover model."

"Oh," Bruce shrugged. "Means we won't have to get her a cab." Alfred laughed ironically and took Bruce's empty glass.

"Take my advice Master Wayne, it's better to be happy for even a short period then to never be happy at all."

Bruce looked at Alfred strangely, "why wouldn't I be happy Alfred?"

"I wouldn't assume you aren't Master Wayne; but I would urge you to take advantage of this lull in your usual activities." Bruce smiled. Alfred would always look out for him.

"Thanks Alfred." As if to punctuate the moment, a woman from the hospital committee waved Bruce over to a small gathering by the bar. Bruce joined them gladly, shaking Ella Martinez's hand and allowing himself to be introduced to the members of the group.

"Pretty intense reaction huh?" Ella asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Bruce could smell the alcohol on her breath and only hoped she could stay sober long enough to get home.

"Very intense," he agreed; "but the press was eating up and it will be all the better for the hospital." Another woman in a low-cut red dress complimented Bruce's generosity, and a man at her elbow glared a little at Bruce. Bruce deflected the comment with some little joke at his own expense.

The crowd shifted and changed as people left, came, or went to join other groups. Ella Martinez stayed by Bruce's side however. She laughed every time he said something remotely funny and brushed against him as she shifted in her long heels. Bruce's unconscious mind recalled what Alfred had said and he paid Ella special attention.

If Alfred was insinuating that he involve himself with a woman, as Bruce suspected, than Ella was perfect. She had straight black hair, high cheekbones, a curvy figure: beautiful by any summation. She leaned over to whisper in Bruce's ear every time she got the chance and Bruce was not averse to her looks.

He allowed himself to ignore her obvious hints and flirted with her a little. She adored his attention and commented on everything that was said in the small group of people.

Bruce felt retrospective and examined the evening. The booze was good, the company was nice, Ella's attention didn't make him feel any more listless; and as the evening grew late he considered himself as having accomplished Alfred's wishes.

The crowd talked about the hospital, gossiped, and drank a lot. The whole evening was coated with a film like a lens added to a camera. It diffused the light, added warmth to the air, and filled the conversation with superfluity.

As Ella whispered a tidbit of gossip into Bruce's ear he heard a man's shout. He looked around, though no one else had noticed and heard another shout from the balcony. He looked around for a security personal; but there wasn't one in the immediate vicinity. He sighed as another shout floated through the doors and more heads turned toward the door.

"Hold that thought just one second," Bruce whispered to Ella who clung to his suit as he shot her a teasing look in return of her pout.

The cool evening air swept over him along with another yell from the man's disembodied voice.

A woman's softer voice responded more audibly. It was calm and relaxed. "Stop shouting Austin." The pair were standing by the balcony, which made Bruce uneasy from the way the man tottered in an obvious drunken stupor. The woman stood with her back towards Bruce and seemed to be headed for another door off the balcony. The man didn't even notice Bruce.

"Why should I keep my voice down Laura? Why can't I say what I want to say? Who cares what those rich snobs think!?" he yelled the last word, punctuating the sentence by taking another deep swig from the drink in his hand. The woman sighed and put her face in her hand.

"That's it Austin. I'm sick of this. No matter how nice you are during the day, every time…you just get drunk and say stupid things."

"What does that mean?" he asked. In his inebriated state he couldn't disguise the fear in his demeanor. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Breaking up implies we were going out, which we weren't." He looked confused and she sighed exhaustedly. "Yes, Austin it's over." She turned towards the door and moved to leave when Austin stumbled forward and grabbed her forearm, possibly aiming for her wrist. As Bruce moved forward her soft voice whispered. "Let me go Austin."

He pulled her back from the door and her voice rose in volume though it retained the lack of intonation that indicated anger or even fear. "Austin Hayes, I said let me go."

Bruce snatched Austin's hand from the woman' arm by twisting the man's wrist away from his body until he snatched it back.

She recognized him and her voice was surprisingly bubbly for the situation. "Mr. Wayne."

Austin scoffed and took another drink. The woman exhaled softly and Bruce could sense her embarrassment.

"Is there a problem out here?" Bruce asked, almost slipping into the gravelly tone he used during his other activities.

The woman smiled in a manner that was surprisingly convincing. "Nope, no problem at all."

"Not at all," Austin agreed with a wide gesture of his arms that betrayed his state of inebriation. "We were just leaving." Austin tried to move to sweep Laura towards the door, clutching at her forearm as he moved towards the door; but she twisted out of his grasp.

"No Austin _I_ was just leaving." Austin tried to grab her again; but this time Bruce stepped between them.

"I think she wants to leave Mr. Hayes." Bruce was actually shorter than the man by an inch or so; but he was unintimidated by the towering drunk.

"Stay out of this pretty boy." Bruce let the comment roll off him.

"Austin would you please just shut up for once?" Laura asked from behind Bruce. She moved around him and toward the door again and would have left the balcony if Austin hadn't started up again.

"Tell me Laura what makes _you_ so much better than me?" Laura stopped. He had enunciated the words by pointing his glass-laden hand at her accusingly and now she was frozen in disbelief as the amber champagne dripped down her front and soaked her white dress.

It took Austin a moment to process what he had done and why she was standing motionless with one hand on the doorknob mouth agape.

For a few seconds no one moved until Laura regained her composure and opened the door, stepping out in a huff.

Bruce regained himself. "Alright, I think you've had enough." Austin laughed degradingly and tried to drain any remaining champagne from the glass. Bruce grabbed the man's upper arm and towed him towards the door; hoping security was close enough that Bruce wouldn't lose his temper before he found them.

The man crashed his champagne glass on Bruce's head from behind and though it angered him more than it hurt he turned around and slammed his fist into the man's face. The drunk fell to the ground stone-cold unconscious as Bruce turned with his fists raised for a fight.

He was disappointed when he beheld the man on the floor. Drunken party guests put up much less of a fight than mobsters and Bruce was a little sorry for it.

Bruce exhaled and pulled himself together. When he turned Alfred was standing by the door with a slightly disappointed look on his face. "You couldn't avoid thrashing someone for just one evening?"

"He broke a champagne glass on my head," remembering the injury he raised a hand to his head.

"Shall we get you to a hospital then?" Alfred returned in a monotone. Maybe it wasn't one of Bruce's worst injuries. Bruce started an argument that died before it was fully formed. He dropped his hand and looked at Alfred. "There's a woman named Laura inside, about five, seven, brown hair, wearing a white dress inside. Will you go find her and help her get cleaned up?"

"What'd you do to her Master Wayne?" Bruce glared at him until Alfred moved.

Bruce shook the glass out of his hair and fixed his suit. He stepped back inside and told security a guest had passed out on the balcony and that he was to be escorted out as roughly as possible. When he was done he found Ella still standing by the bar with a different crowd.

"Brucey," she called, as though he hadn't seen her (though they were making eye contact).

Bruce cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. You were saying?" She remembered her comment and filled Bruce in on everything he had missed. Just when his heart rate had gone back to normal, the flush in his cheeks had gone away, and he had started to lose himself in her superfluous comments she looked at him like he had the plague.

"Bruce you're bleeding!" It took him a moment to figure out what she meant and when he tried to covertly check his knuckles he felt the blood as it dripped from his hairline to his forehead.

"Damn," he muttered, touching his forehead and bringing his fingers back to eye-level with a bloody coating. "Hold that thought one more time," he told Ella.

"Bruce will you be alright?" she asked urgently, he paused a few steps away. It seemed a little silly, it was just a little blood. He nodded and headed down the hallway towards the bedroom.

He unlocked the door with a key (a measure taken to keep guests in the designated areas) and closed it behind him. He swore again as the blood dripped off his eyebrow and onto his white shirt. Taking off his suit coat, yanking off his tie he used the now useless dress shirt to staunch the bleeding on his forehead as he moved towards the closet. Using his non-bloody hand he pulled another dress shirt from the closet and threw it on the bed next to the tie and suit coat.

Bruce opened the bathroom door with the clean hand and was taken quite by surprise when a woman yelped in surprise. He stepped backwards and yanked the door most of the way shut as her half-clothed figure registered in his mind.

Bruce found himself speechless for the second time that evening. He heard the rustle of clothing in the bathroom and forced out some words.

"Um… I'm sorry. Now do you want to tell me why you're in my bathroom?" There was no response and Bruce wondered how the woman, who had appeared alone, had gotten into the locked bedroom.

He let the doorknob slide through his fingers as she pulled it open and after a moment he recognized the woman as the one from the balcony, though it took a moment with her holding the neck of a new black dress over her form and with a taken-by-surprise look that Bruce hadn't seen on the balcony.

"Mr. Wayne," she said, a definite blush creeping through her cheeks. She put out her hand and Bruce took it by reaction. "Laura Daines. I'm the head of donations on the hospital committee." Awkward pause. "I apologize Mr. Wayne; your butler let me in and…gave me the dress."

Bruce cleared his throat. "No, completely my fault. I told him to, I just… forgot." Wow, that sounded bad.

She laughed once. "Can't blame you for not knocking in your own house I guess. Give me another second and I'll give you back your bathroom?" Bruce nodded and turned away as she closed the door.

He laughed to himself once as he picked up the dress shirt and pinned it back to his forehead before he bled on everything.

In sixty seconds the woman opened the door, dress now properly tied above her neck, with her stained dress in one hand, and her heels in another.

She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and turned to him. "I have to thank you for the dress." It was a conventional black little number that fit as well as something kept on hand for such occasions could be expected.

"Don't bother. It looks better on you than it did on the hanger." He laughed once and broke the eye contact. Perhaps that wasn't the best comment to have made.

She smiled. "Well thank you." At least she was polite even though he had just interrupted her in the middle of changing. "But I have to ask: should I be worried that _this_ was in your closet?" Her tone was teasing.

Bruce smiled. "not if you like it."

"I do."

"You'd be surprised how often spare clothes can come in handy at a party with drunken millionaires."

She smiled. "You have very nice taste Mr. Wayne." She saw the shirt in his hand and paused, her face growing concerned. Bruce pulled down the shirt which was now soaked through with blood. He wadded it up more and replaced it. "Did Austin do that to you?" she asked, fixing him with a surprised look.

He felt a little embarrassed, taken from behind by a drunk. "He caught me by surprise."

She smiled without humor and shook her head. "I am so sorry."

Bruce shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"It kind of is… if you weren't trying to be a gentleman than you would still have a clean shirt."

"Well that makes it my fault then." Bruce smiled.

"Do you want any help?" she asked quickly. It took him a moment to understand what she meant. "I'll clean the cut if you want."

"Oh, no I can get it."

"You sure?" she asked good-naturedly.

"Yes," he reiterated.

"Okay." She extended her hand again and he switched hands on the shirt to shake hers. "Sorry, again. But thanks for the dress and sorry about…" she pointed towards the bathroom door, "that."

"My pleasure." He paused as soon as the words came out. That sounded perverted.

She smiled and laughed. Bruce looked over her shoulder. "Wow," he said aloud as she started to laugh again, surprised at his own lack of tact. She took it in good naturedly with extra laughter.

"Don't worry about it, no big deal."

"Not if you're not born with your foot in your mouth." Bruce picked up the dress shirt, jacket, and tie.

Her face grew serious. "And Mr. Wayne, thank you for the… the help. I really do appreciate it, and I don't know what might have happened if you hadn't showed up."

Bruce nodded and went into the bathroom, without pausing to watch her leave.

As he cleaned the blood and glass out of his hair Bruce laughed aloud when he realized that Alfred had gotten his wish. Bruce had seen a naked woman that night.

When Bruce was satisfied with his appearance he ran his fingers through his hair and put the suit coat back on.

He was adjusting the cuffs when he walked back into the bedroom and saw Laura Daines, still standing by the door. For a moment he was bewildered until he saw her point at the door handle noncommittally and realized that it was still locked.

"Sorry," Bruce apologized as he unlocked it with the key and let her out.

"Don't be, I owe you a favor." She turned to face him before walking out. "Have a nice evening Mr. Wayne." Bruce inclined his head and she walked back into the crowd with him a few steps behind.


	2. Scandal!

Hola! Chapter 2. Hope you all enjoy a scandal!

Thankfully the party didn't last much longer, though Ella stayed longer than anyone, Bruce was crawling into bed at two AM, relishing that for once Bruce Wayne was more help to Gotham than Batman.

Alfred woke him at ten for the noon meeting at Wayne Enterprises. After dressing Bruce went into the kitchen where Alfred had laid out breakfast and was reading the newspaper, the TV turned on low. Bruce sat down to eat and asked Alfred.

"What are they saying about the hospital?"

"Couldn't tell you sir, I was reading the funnies." He paused for comedic effect before going on. "There's supposed to be news coverage on in a few minutes; but overall it looks very good." They went on to talk about stock until the news came on and started it's coverage of the press conference the night before.

Alfred turned the TV up and, for Bruce, it was slightly surreal watching himself in the other room. The reports about the hospital were good, hopes flying high, and when the generic anchors closed the story Bruce was just about to turn off the television when the story changed. A new perkier anchor with better hair, the one who reported on scandal and gossip, filled the screen as she started off her spiel.

"Press conferences weren't the only thing going on last night in Bruce Wayne's penthouse." A picture of Bruce buttoning his suit coat, closing the bedroom door, dominated the screen and on the extreme edge was Ms. Daines walking down the hallway.

"Mr. Bruce Wayne was seen," she cleared her throat, "entertaining Ms. Laura Daines, the head of funds for the Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital Committee, during the latter part of the evening and we are left to wonder if she wasn't making a few," the anchor made finger quotations, "social connections of her own."

Bruce laughed out loud. Wow, those reporters were better than Bruce gave them credit for they must have been waiting by that door for such a perfect shot.

"While Laura isn't Bruce's usual type we all know that Mr. Wayne does enjoy bringing his work home with him." She referenced a scandal from a few months ago and continued.

"My own unintended scandal," Bruce said to Alfred.

"The one time I don't bother to check the society page you managed to get top story," Alfred said, flipping through the paper.

Two pictures were put on the screen: one of Ms. Daines entering the event in her white dress, the second of her leaving in the black one. The words before and after were put over the pictures in big blocky letters. "True love at last for our play boy millionaire or yet another scandal, this time with his philanthropic work? We at GL News went straight to the source to find out." Footage of Ms. Daines standing by a car earlier in the morning came onto the screen. A reporter's voice sounded out and his disembodied hand floated in the shot.

"Is it true you're sleeping with Bruce Wayne for the benefit of the hospital funds?" Laura didn't appear the least bit bothered by the insinuation.

"I can only ask the question: is there any part of my past, _any_ scandal, which gives credence to these accusations?"

"We don't see you denying them," the reporter bit back.

She opened the car door. "Then read my lips: I would never endanger the plans for the hospital, or my job, for a one night fling with a millionaire." She had apparently ignored the other questions because they cut away back to the reporter.

"Well Laura, Bruce certainly has enough indiscretions for the both of you and we, of the public, are only left to wonder if Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital will be built upon the same corrupted business deals that our beloved Harvey Dent fought so hard against." She finished with her "you be the judge" catchphrase and Alfred muted the TV.

"Why is it that when we want them to cover something it gets pushed to page 12, and when we don't, it makes Society news front page?" Alfred muttered into his hand.

Bruce shrugged. "Irony? What's the difference? Maybe we'll have to stop trying so hard."

"I don't think you realize Mr. Wayne that they could throw you off the hospital committee with accusations like these." That took Bruce a bit by surprise; but he tried to roll with the punches.

"I don't think they'll mind taking my dirty money, no matter how they think they're getting it."

"And Ms. Daines?" That brought Bruce up short.

"What about her?"

"They could sack her. You have other things to look after; but for her career this could be devastating." Bruce looked over at Alfred.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"You could deny the accusations," he said, fixing Bruce with the same look he did when Bruce refused to eat his vegetables as a child.

"A press conference? You want me to hold a press conference?" Bruce asked in disbelief. The two of them always agreed that press was best left to the public for interpretation. It was always so much more mysterious when no one involved commented on the latest scandal.

"No sir; but if a tipster were to tell them that Bruce Wayne had a business dinner at Bridges around six thirty and they happened to be there with cameras. Then it might at least give Ms. Daines a better chance."

"You're serious," Bruce said disbelievingly.

"When I have to be." Bruce drank the last of his coffee.

"Do whatever you think is best Alfred."

"I try to sir."

Bruce got a few more looks than usual; but no one dared to vocalize their snide comments to the wealthiest man in Gotham. There were business meetings, stocks, lawyers, lunch with Lucius, and Bruce couldn't help the question returning to his mind during every break about what he was going to say to the reporters that would surely be waiting for him at his business dinner.

He decided to keep it short and sweet. If he told them the whole story about an obnoxious date who spilled champagne on her and made him bleed it would sound as if he was trying to beg their pardon, not to mention sound unbelievably made up. His response would have to answer the question and show a little disdain so the press would feel stupid for asking.

After business was done Bruce dodged a phone call from Ella Fitzgerald. Undoubtedly she had another, better, perfectly excusable reason for calling; but Bruce knew she just wanted to know if he had really slept with Ms. Daines. The only advantage of answering the press was that it circulated without any effort from him.

After an in-depth discussion about the possibility of hacking the low jack on police vehicles so Batman could give them a wide berth Bruce got into his little red sports car and headed to the restaurant. Bruce could see the mob of reporters half a block away. He pictured his father and let the calm flow into his limbs, pulling on the mask of the millionaire to hide the face of the Batman.

The door was opened for him and the calm was shattered as a tidal wave of "Mr. Wayne" hit the shore and broke upon his ears. He realized belatedly that he would have appreciated having some model or actress at his side. His millionaire persona was never quite fully realized without one.

"What is your relationship with Ms. Daines?"

"Is it true you're sleeping with the head of funds?"

"Why Laura Daines?"

Bruce handed a gratuitous tip to the valet who was excited enough just to sit in the driver's seat of the beautiful little sports car. Bruce addressed a female reporter with brown hair, walking towards the entrance as he spoke.

"What do you say to the pictures published by GL News and the Gotham Tribune?"

"Pictures can be tampered with," Bruce answered, walking down the carpet towards the doors. The press burst into a fresh fervor when they realized that not only was Bruce Wayne actually commenting on a scandal; but he actually had the nerve to deny it.

"How will this affect your position on the hospital committee?" a woman with a tape recorder danced next to him in impossible shoes, trying to keep pace.

"Luckily Mrs. Morrison usually avoids the society page."

"What is your relationship with Ms. Daines?"

"Purely professional."

"Mr. Wayne, so you are denying these allegations?" a reporter with a microphone asked in a commanding, disbelieving voice. Bruce reached the door and turned. Every reporter got quieted, trying to hear the answer to the question that everyone wanted to hear.

"You should read the paper more," Bruce said in a blasé, condescending voice. "Ms. Daines isn't exactly my type."

They exploded with more questions as the door swung shut behind Bruce. He was happy to leave them behind and lower his guard a little. As much as he hated the press and their questions he felt better, feeling he had done right by Ms. Daine's reputation. Alfred was practically his conscience, knew better than Bruce what was best for him.


	3. Perfume

Hey! Sorry this is short. Here's just a quick update. Good one coming up next. Enjoy and shoot me just a short review, puwease!

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The following week was a busy one. Batman only prowled the streets twice while Bruce was still out late at Wayne Industries when he wasn't on duty. There were no further references to the Daines/ Wayne scandal (as it came to be known) besides reporters' disdain for his denial, which lasted all of two days. With no fresh material it was forcibly abandoned and died away.

Mrs. Morrison never commented on it, though Bruce got worried when his secretary informed him that she had called. However, she had only called to set up a time for a meeting of the board of trustees. Bruce chose to take this as a sign that she had decided to overlook the scandal.

A week later was the meeting for the board of trustees. Bruce didn't dare push his luck and arrive late; but he arrived at the exact moment the meeting was supposed to start. This time, however, luck was not with him. One of the other trustees had called with car trouble and the meeting could not be held without them.

The one to tell him this was Ella Fitzgerald, who had appeared at his side the moment he stepped through the door. Now sitting, legs crossed, on the large table in the middle of the room, looking prim in a pencil skirt and ruffled blouse. Bruce sat in a chair and was not totally immune to the lines of her long legs, elongated by another pair of satin high heels.

"So, what was that whole deal on the news about you and Laura Daines?" Bruce almost scoffed out loud, her tact left a little to be desired. He quickly regained his composure and shot Ella the most winning smile that he could manage.

"You know the tabloids, it's always something." She laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, ain't that the truth. So you two aren't like… a thing or something?" She said it offhandedly; but her eyes were trained on him to take in every little clue.

Bruce laughed once. "Not by a long shot."

"Okay good," Ella said, her pride restored. She laughed again. "You'd think she could at least manage to be on time."

It took Bruce a moment to figure out what she meant. "She's the one with the car trouble?" Bruce asked.

Ella nodded. "Yeah. Because it's so hard to get a cab in Gotham City." She rolled her eyes. Bruce 'hm'ed. "So did you hear about…" she went on about some other story from the tabloids.

About five minutes later the doors opened and in walked Laura Daines. She had a huge smile on her face and looked as professional as Ella in pinstripe pants, heels, and a satin top.

Mrs. Morrison took a seat at the head of the table. "Well, now we can get started." The others sat, Ella taking a seat next to Bruce determinedly. Laura handed a thumb drive to the tech guy and walked to the front of the room, dumping a binder and her long white coat on the table. She looked excited and started talking immediately.

"Alright, I lied about the car trouble. I was late because I was waiting for a phone call; but I think you'll all be able to forgive me because I just did something unbelievable." She put her hands on the table and smiled like a predator.

"Three words: New York Times. I did unspeakable things and there are bodies in Gotham River because of what I did; but this project is going to be featured in the New York Times next edition." An awed hush settled over the room.

Mrs. Morrison regained herself first. "You're quite sure dear?"

Laura smiled. "It's a done deal. Friend of a friend, they needed a humanitarian article; but the writer was captured by the story and wants to do an editorial on it. The funds are going to be pouring in from sympathizers everywhere." A round of applause ensued and Bruce clapped along, impressed by her passion.

The tech guy brought up some pictures on the projector and Laura continued about location of the fund raiser dinner, a high end reception hall in Gotham.

The meeting lasted for two hours; but it was productive. When they finished Bruce stretched his shoulders back and exhaled a long breath. He never had liked sitting still.

"Well that was as dull as doornails," Ella observed casually.

Bruce shrugged. "Not as bad as most meetings go." He turned his head at a small commotion started in the corner.

One of the trustees, in the contracting business was holding up his expensive cell phone and everyone was looking over his shoulder reading something on it. He said little excerpts out loud. "Two major crime bosses in Gotham's drug underground…left tied at city hall… with bat paraphernalia…"

Another woman finished it. "One of them had been shot and was dead long before day break. Jesus Christ." Mrs. Morrison and Laura were talking at the head of the table and when she heard the news she turned back to Mrs. Morrison to continue their conversation.

"So, the only dilemma is…" she started off; but the contractor cut her off.

"This not interesting enough for you Laura?" She turned her head to see him a little.

"Is what not interesting enough for me Timothy?"

"They just posted an article online. The Batman killed a drug dealer last night and one of his buddies is in critical condition." He sounded very official.

Bruce clenched his jaw. He had been at Wayne Industries until 2 AM last night when he went home. Ella muttered, "unbelievable," just behind him. Everyone's attention turned to Laura.

"Tim, don't try to incite a riot against me for indifference." She turned back to Mrs. Morrison and continued their conversation. Tim rolled his eyes and the group continued their "Batman" conversation.

Ella started to speak at Bruce's shoulder. "It's amazing. Every time you turn around he's out there trying to save the world. You'd think he'd get the message after a while."

Bruce let the comments roll off him like water. "With the police on his tail you'd think he might lay off a little." Ella used his ascension to fuel a whole other fifteen minutes of discussion which was only broken by Mrs. Morrison's departure. She looked at her watch and sighed. "Damn. I'm late. I'll see you Bruce." Bruce thought he saw her flash a glance at the corner group as she exited which had thinned to only half a dozen people.

As he picked up his briefcase he caught the tenor of their conversation. One of the women addressed Laura. "So what was that thing with Tim all about?"

Laura scoffed. "Oh he hates me because we got into once at this party and I had to refuse to talk about it before one of us drew blood."

"No wonder," one woman added. "It's practically his obsession."

"I'm surprised he could go the whole meeting without checking for news."

"Seriously." Bruce wandered over to the conversation and the circle unconsciously widened.

Laura didn't look at him. "It's dumb because the drug dealer got shot right?"

"Yes."

"Batman doesn't even use guns. There's so many copycats out there it's nearly impossible to spot the real article anymore. For all we know Batman retired years ago."

Bruce felt himself speaking before he quite realized what he was saying. "So you don't believe _the_ Batman is the one who killed Harvey Dent?" The group got quiet. Bruce was walking on dangerous ground.

Laura looked him in the eyes for the first time since she arrived. "I don't judge people by what I hear, only by what I see them do."

"And you only see the Batman doing good?" Bruce asked.

Laura looked at him without moving or even seeming to breathe. "I've yet to make acquaintances; but he's unquestionably done this city a lot of good. I'm hesitant to make a judgment on a person who helped Gotham in it's time of need, regardless of present action."

"Bruce has a point though," another woman piped up though. "He hasn't been doing this city any good recently."

Laura continued unperturbed. "But like I said: so many of them are copycats. The news is completely biased when it reports and since last Summer everyone has happily accounted every mishap, large and small, to him. Some of the accusations are completely ridiculous."

"But there is what he did to Harvey Dent," another piped up. Bruce watched Laura's expression. Her nostrils flared a little and less than a minute later she left the circle, got her things and left.

The group continued the conversation eagerly, arguing between Batman superhero, and Batman evil madman. Bruce did as he always did and helped to argue the latter: but didn't stay much longer.

When he got off the elevator into the parking garage he saw his silver Porsche Carrera GT and immediately behind it, not there when Bruce had parked it, was a black Aston Martin Vanquish.

As he stepped out of the elevator and into the garage he saw an unmistakable brown head come into view; and its owner was leaning against his car casually. Bruce smiled and put his hands in his suit pockets. "An impressive performance you put on in there."

She smiled. "Well, it's always smart to remind the higher ups why you're irreplaceable."

Bruce felt himself smile. Laura lifted a black dry cleaning bag. "I wanted to return your dress."

"You shouldn't have bothered," Bruce said politely, taking the bag from her hand. He opened the back of the car and laid it on the seat.

"Well I didn't want to remain in your debt any more than I had to," Laura shifted away from his car and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

"One dress and suddenly your in my debt?" Bruce asked.

She smiled, almost to herself. "I think we both know it was a little more than a dress."

"As I recall I ended up getting you in more trouble than if you had just stayed in the white one." Laura spoke so there was no pause between their words.

"And when the press started mudslinging you actually had the guts to deny the accusations so I could keep my job."

Bruce smiled at her, mildly impressed with her deductive skills. "What makes you think I did it for you or your job?" he asked, leaning against his car.

"You should really try googleing yourself. There must be half a million hits under Bruce Wayne, scandal, and 'cannot be reached for comment'." They both paused. "You have never once, tried to control what the media says about you…ever. Suddenly when my reputation is on the line, you jump to it." Bruce looked over at her, wondering, from the wording, if she was as suspicious as she sounded.

The expression on her face wasn't one he could readily identify. She didn't seem angry, or pleased, or flirtatious. She peered at him just a little, with her lips slightly pursed, as if she was examining a piece of art and didn't know how she felt about it. Bruce found himself saying exactly what he was thinking.

"Are you upset that I did?" He watched her as she spoke and tried to dissect that face, pull away the exterior to see what made her tick.

"Not at all," her expression changed completely until it matched her words in genuine. "I really am grateful."

"So what's the problem?" Bruce asked, trying not to sound impatient.

She cocked her head a little. "I'm trying to figure you out Bruce Wayne, because I don't like to make hasty judgments of people. I thought for sure that you would be an open book study. Even with the philanthropy, you've never tried to save your reputation, and at times I would swear that you make it too easy." Bruce's mind was reeling; but he kept his gaze level and steady. She looked away from him almost embarrassedly. "You're like the Batman." Bruce was glad she was looking away so she wouldn't see his reaction, no matter how well he thought he concealed it.

"It seems that every time I look a little closer at either of you, I find discrepancies, biasness, and some voice in the back of my head whispers that things just aren't adding up." She looked at him directly. "The press calls you a playboy millionaire, secondhand accounts call you generous, and my few experiences directly with you have left either to be wholly lacking." She grinned a little. "So tell me Bruce Wayne, what's the truth?"

Bruce smiled back. "Maybe the truth is that you're wrong." He watched her reaction.

She laughed a little. "I've been wrong about people before. Austin Hayes for example," she said good naturedly. "Sometimes, I look back and wish I would have just believed the things I'd heard; but the times I'm right are worth the mishaps." She brightened, "besides, if I hadn't gotten champagne spilled on me, I might never have met you." It sounded flirtatious but she said it cheerfully, like she might have said it to anyone. She grinned wickedly. "These are just first impressions. I'll let you know if I ever come to something conclusive."

"I hope you will," Bruce returned.

With another smile Laura pulled her keys out of her purse. When she opened her door Bruce put a hand on the frame. "Auf wiedersehen," she said putting on a pair of sunglasses. Bruce nodded and closed her door.

Laura maneuvered the car smoothly around the elevator shaft and went faster than she should have in a parking facility. Her words echoed through Bruce's mind as he drove home and were with him as he got in the elevator. He had the dry cleaning bag in one hand as the elevator rose to the penthouse. It was in the mirrored box that Bruce noticed the note taped to the outside of the bag.

He pulled it off and opened the one fold.

_I don't know how to pay back a millionaire; but if I can ever do you any favor, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you._

_Laura_

Bruce looked at it. She really was persistent. He did a strange thing then. Standing in the cramped space he smelled something, something sweet. Absentmindedly he lifted the black bag to his nose and inhaled. It was so sweet; floral, fruity? He didn't know how to describe it; but he smelled it again and let the scent wind its way through his senses. It was almost subtle; but not underwhelming, perfect.

After a moment Bruce shook his head and admonished himself lightly.


	4. Socializing

Bruce was talking to Alfred when the phone call came in, arguing actually, about stocks and the Pittsburgh Steelers.

"Wayne residence," Alfred said, picking up the phone. His tone was good, like he hadn't been arguing his point a few seconds ago.

"And may I ask who's calling?" After a moment he handed Bruce the phone. Bruce covered the mouthpiece.

"Who is it?"

"The Patriots, they'd like to formally give up now." Alfred picked up the newspaper and walked away.

Bruce smiled. "Heaven, God speaking."

"Bruce!" The female voice on the other end was perky and Bruce was obviously supposed to know who it was.

"Hey! How are you doing?"

"Oh can't complain. You?"

"Not bad."

"So, you remember how you were talking about formalizing public donations for the dinner next month?" Bruce remembered. It was Angie Adams, she was on the hospital committee, and coincidentally dating Roger Morris who was the head of public relations.

"How could I forget?" he asked, straining to remember the conversation.

"Well, I told Roger about your idea and we were thinking a few of us could get together and discuss it."

Bruce pursed his lips. Why wasn't she calling his secretary to set up meetings? "Sure. I can get the Wayne Industries conference room on…"

Angie laughed. "Well, we were thinking about making this informal. A few of us on the board go play racquetball at the Country Club on West Adams. We can grab some lunch after, just a few of us."

Oh, that was why. Bruce lay back on the couch. He hated mingling and he grimaced, keeping his tone positive. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Great! We'll see you at 10 on Thursday?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Alright, we'll see you then Bruce." Bruce hung up and let his arm drop off the side of the couch.

Things were so much easier being the Batman. When a mobster shot at you, you knew exactly what he was thinking and exactly what he was trying to do. But these millionaires and philanthropists you never knew what they were up to. And at least you never have to make nice and go to lunch with the criminal thugs.

DKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDK

Thursday morning came and Bruce stood in his closet for a minute. He knew exactly what the other men would be wearing. They would be in synthetic fabrics, maybe even white polos, that clung tight to the chest.

Bruce knew he could find one and blend in; but he didn't want to. The clothes designed to make moderately muscled people look heavily muscled didn't hang well on him. They showed off the obscure bruises and scars he had collected over years of training; and while the women might like it, he tried to play down the muscles that had sprung up in his vigilante work.

So, with a sick vindication he pulled on some long running shorts and a tee shirt, which he covered with a sweatshirt. How did the Country Club like him now?

DKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDKDK

When he had the valet park his car he was 5 minutes late. He expected everyone to be there already. As it turned out, they weren't. A tuxedoed man hurried up to him when he walked in, his eyes taking in the sweats with a look that said whatever-the-millionaire-playboy-wants.

"Mr. Wayne, your party called in, they're going to be a little late, some sort of traffic problem. However, would you like me to show you to the court?"

Bruce nodded and in the back of his brain a voice muttered, what are they up to?

The court was outside and was relatively simple. It was a 40 by 20 by 20 walled room. The back wall was entirely Plexiglas and, despite the careful care and maintenance, the room had more than a few discrete scuff marks on the wall. A rectangle was painted about ten feet from the front wall and a dotted line about midcourt.

Bruce's grasp of the game was moderate. He had seen it played before; but he wasn't all that worried since millionaires could never really play sports anyways. They were too afraid of breaking their nails or dropping their money clips. Sports were simply vestigial, something everyone could feign while extending their roots into the social network.

Bruce wished he was in the Bat Cave, pounding on a punching bag, or even running on a treadmill, because he was virtually guaranteed little to no movement for the next two hours.

Bruce was pushing air through pursed lips, tightening his shoe laces, when a sports bag was dropped a few feet away from him.

He looked up, and there was Laura Daines.

She did a double take when he stood and cocked her head with a little smile. A very polite though equally confused, "hi," escaped her.

"Afternoon," Bruce said, nodding his head.

"I didn't know Angie looped you into this."

Bruce smiled just a little. "She's a hard woman to say no to."

Laura laughed, "ain't that the truth."

She was dressed in the usual finery of the country club: a white polo made of synthetic fabric that laid unnaturally on her body, a skirt of the same material that was meant to be sporty looking, and expensive looking tennis shoes. Her chocolate colored hair was pulled into a high ponytail and her makeup was perfect.

However, she didn't even seem to notice Bruce's sweats so he tried not to hold it against her.

"Do you play much?" she asked, filling a lull in conversation, and reaching into her bag.

"Not in a long time," Bruce admitted. He had looked at the new racket this morning and had made a mental note to remember that it was shorter then a tennis racket.

Laura grinned and pulled out an old looking blue racket that had been taped on the handle. It wasn't nearly as impressive as Bruce's new black one.

"What was that?" Bruce found himself asking.

She looked up, "what was what?"

"That little smile?" Bruce pushed.

Laura shrugged, looking like a small child about to do something wicked. "I was just thinking: it's gonna be awfully embarrassing when I kick your ass."

Bruce couldn't even get a comeback together fast enough. He looked at her as though for the first time, in all her prettyboy glory, that only seemed to be missing sweatbands.

She pulled a blue ball about the size of a tennis ball from her bag and kicked it to the side. "C'mon."

She walked over towards the court and opened the door in the Plexiglas. "Alright, server, stands in that box," she pointed to the rectangle. "Drops the ball, hits it once at the far wall. If it doesn't clear the dotted line, then it's no good. Rules: hit the ball as many times as you want, it can hit as many walls at it wants; but it can only hit the floor once and until it hits the far wall again, it's your ball. Can only score points when it's your serve and make sure to stay out of the way of my racket." She smiled in an almost daring fashion. "Think you can handle that tiger?" Without waiting for an answer she grabbed her ankle and started to stretch.

Bruce pulled off his sweatshirt and, as he tossed it next to the other side of the glass, noticed a few women watching. They turned away like fugitives when he noticed and started to laugh. Bruce turned back, wondering if Laura had noticed. No, she was stretching, touching her palms to the floor.

"You wanna just hit it around for a minute?" she asked, standing.

"No, I think I got it," Bruce said, spinning the racket in his hand. If she thought she was going to snatch an easy victory from him, she would have to think again. It had been a while; but he wasn't exactly in bad shape.

She shrugged and walked over to the rectangle. "Alright, first to 21." The ball hit the ground once and as it came back down she swung hard and nailed it right into the wall. It cleared the dotted line and as Bruce stepped after it bounced off both walls in the back corner. For a second he just had to watch, amply able to get to the corner in time, as it bounced, trying to gauge when to hit it. He tried to swing, just before it hit the ground a second time; but his racket clipped the wall and he didn't have enough room to swing.

Laura plucked the bouncing ball out of the air and walked back towards the box. "One- nothing." She served and this time Bruce was ready. He caught it after the first bounce, before it could get back towards the wall and slammed it hard into the wall. As he moved back towards the center of the court she darted around him and had to jump to reach it. She lobbed it back at the wall and Bruce didn't even have to move. Remembering Alfred's tip this morning, he hit it near the bottom of the wall and it bounced about three feet from the wall. Laura, still scrambling from the jump, ran for it; but couldn't save it in time.

Bruce decided to be polite and not say anything; but her raised eyebrow when she tossed him the ball and he stepped up to the rectangle said it all.

To say that the game was interesting would have been an understatement at best. Laura was forced to admit, about 6-7, that Bruce was pretty good. After he switched his racket to the other hand to catch a hit on the far left there had been a whole conversation about age 9 when Bruce had broken his arm and become ambidextrous. Of course she had laughed very hard at him when he had dived for the ball at a corner, hit it, and then run shoulder long into the wall. What really got him was that the ball had somehow hit the rim and had gone straight up. But then, he hadn't been able to stop smirking when she had hit it with enough backspin that it had hit her in the arm.

"Stop gloating." Bruce examined the short ring of sweat around his collar and tried to stop.

"Do you want to grab some water?" he asked, bouncing the ball on his racket offhandedly.

She shrugged. "I'm fine; but, you know, if you want to delay the inevitable than that's fine too."

Bruce snatched the ball out of the air. "Excuse me? I thought the score was 18-19." She was just playing, and he knew it by the smile that had taken residence on her face, and the tips she offered him every now and again. But somehow, he found himself teasing her back.

"It is," she conceded. "I'm winning."

"No, no, you see its all part of my master plan. To let you get ahead, get cocky, and then use it to my advantage," Bruce said without looking at her, totally nonchalant.

"You're running out of time to be getting advantages. I think I'm rusty from all those games with Angie, but its okay," she patted him on the shoulder and took the ball, "you won't have to be too embarrassed when you lose."

Bruce smiled and took position. He was standing on the tips of his toes, knees bent, ready to take off like a bolt of lightening. "Is Roger any good?" he asked.

She served and Bruce ran. "Dunno, he never comes."

Bruce had discovered that she tended to flinch and react a little slower when he hit the ball hard, like runaway semi hard. So he pounded it and it took off like a shot. The ball sailed towards her head and she had to look away as she swung; but she got it and sent it back at the wall.

Bruce, relieved he hadn't injured her, ran for it and sent it back at the wall. It bounced off the back wall in one of those, awkward to hit shots; but rather than try to pivot and somehow keep the ball's momentum, Laura smashed it back into the back wall, and without hitting the ground, it hit the front wall.

Bruce ran for it; but it was a lost cause. Two points later, they were both at 20 and the pressure was on. Bruce knew it was a game, he really did, there was just an insane desire in him, which he didn't fully understand, to win.

Maybe it was Laura's reaction. Bruce had marked her as a pacifist, easygoing type; but she was a fierce competitor, just as ready to run into the wall for a good shot. They must have been entertaining because a few passerbys had even stopped to watch, not that Bruce noticed them much. He was used to attention.

Bruce had to remind himself that much of this game was skill, which was maybe how he was neck and neck with someone so much smaller and weaker. He had to coax his ego and that alone, made him want to win.

When Bruce served they were both strung tight as a wire. She took off, banking it off walls and they kept the volley up for a full 20 seconds before she sent it right at the corner where the floor met the wall.

Both of them stared at it like an item found not where they had left it. "Tie?" Bruce asked, his breath heaving.

Laura glowered, her voice equally strained. "I don't like sharing."

"Re-do?"

This idea was much more warmly received. The ball switched possession twice; but finally Bruce scored and Laura fell to her knees dramatically. She laid back, hands on her stomach, and tried to catch her breath. Bruce stood over her, more than a little pleased.

When his shadow fell over her face she smiled without opening her eyes, and all the tension of the game was gone. "You have bested me good sir." She opened one eye in the afternoon glare of the sun. "But, just cause I got beat doesn't mean I have to like it." Bruce felt himself smiling. Her easy nature was refreshing; and he wouldn't have assumed her to be such a worthy opponent.

She shrugged, and propped herself up on her elbows. "Unless of course, you wanna go best two out of three?" Bruce smiled, offered her and hand, and pulled her to her feet, a few of the muscles in his forearm, complaining from the game.

They played, but stopped keeping track of score. They both reacted, and threw themselves out of each other's way in a dance that never seemed to end.

Just when Bruce had mastered the off-the-back-wall hit and dove out of the way of her next swing a giggling entourage of Angie, Roger, Ella, and 3 other younger members of the committee sauntered into view.

Bruce got distracted; but still tried to hit the ball as it flew in another direction. He tripped and grazed a knee, back on his feet as Laura hit the ball back at the wall. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hesitate, ready to stop the game; but he hit it back and she kept at it.

When he missed, she picked the ball off the ground and called, "you alright?"

But was effectively cut off by Ella. "Brucie, Laura!" They both turned and saw the entourage effectively staring at them.

Bruce doubled over and Laura put her hands on her hips. "Hey Ella. Where- you guys- been?" she called between wheezing breaths.

They walked over onto the court. "I said eleven didn't I?" Angie asked. Bruce's eyes watched her features and he thought he saw her eyes drift.

"You said ten," Laura reassured her speculatively. "The same time we always play."

"Oh right! And we were, but Roger had a meeting and I forgot to change times on you two. I'm so sorry!"

Laura seemed like she was about to argue; but Bruce interjected. Didn't she know there was no point in trying to call them out on whatever game they were playing? This was social high life, they were in a Country Club, best to just roll with the punches and avoid being manipulated further. "It's fine. I wouldn't have wanted witnesses for that any ways."

Angie laughed and Ella said, "yes, look at you two." Bruce became aware of just how sweaty they were and even now they were still panting. The ponytail that tried too hard to seem nonchalant had let dropped a few inches of Laura's bangs and now hung limply and a good portion of her makeup had been disrupted. Meanwhile, Bruce's hair line was soaked with sweat and he had to wipe at his forehead to keep it from dripping. Even Ella seemed to be giving him a wider berth.

"So, if you two are done then lets play huh?" Roger suggested. Ella and Roger played for ten minutes while Angie went with Laura to get some drinks. When they came back, Laura looking a little more like when she had walked in, Bruce buried his face in a towel and Ella sat with him while they went through a few more rotations.

Bruce played Roger and one other man he didn't know well and while neither of them handed him a victory he jogged rather than sprinted.


	5. The Social Game

Hey, sorry about that all! I uploaded the wrong document. Time to go clean up the document manager right? ;)

They ate a long lunch but talked more than Bruce was partial to. It seemed like every time he got food in his mouth someone had a simply pressing question. It wasn't hospital matters and nobody tried to turn it in that direction. However, Bruce wasn't totally immune to stupid conversation. Upon filling himself he joined in the talk and focused on being social, which wasn't too difficult. Bruce Wayne had seen much, experienced just as much; but he was still human.

Lunch finished everyone began to disperse. Bruce was of the opinion that while very little was accomplished, maybe the lunch wasn't a complete waste of his time.

Just as the valet was pulling around Bruce's car he remembered that he had left his sweatshirt over by the racquetball courts (normally he would have left it but it had his valet parking ticket in it). He jogged back inside and saw through a window that Laura and Angie were standing next to the courts talking, Laura's bag at their feet.

He jogged down the hallway and outside to the courts when he heard them say his name. He paused and slowed. They were just beyond a corner and he could hear them but not see them.

"…should have seen you two playing earlier. Just the way he looked at you." Angie finished.

"Nobody plays like that keeping their eyes on anything," Laura said smoothly. "And what was up with that? I don't buy your Roger had a meeting crap."

"Kay, you're avoiding the question. Do you or do you not, Laura Daines, have a thing for Bruce Wayne?" Bruce raised his eyebrows and listened, but there was no answer. He would have shot himself in the foot to see her facial expressions. He did hear her prolonged sigh.

"You think he's cute though right?" Angie pushed, asking as though she had just discovered something horrifying and shockingly dangerous.

"Of course, he's very attractive; but I'm just not sure about him."

"What does that even mean?" Angie asked as though personally offended.

"You're going to get mad at me for this…"

"Spit it out Laur."

Laura sounded defeated, "he seems like a very nice guy."

"And now that's a bad thing!"

"No, its just his reputation precedes him and I don't want to ignore what everyone is telling me and end up with a mess like Austin Hayes or Robert Palmer."

"Look, revolutionary concept: you don't have to marry him." She paused and spoke each word by itself. "Ask. Him. On. A. Date."

"You're missing the point! I don't know if I want to date him!"

"It's Bruce Wayne! Every girl wants to date Bruce Wayne! He honestly likes you and you're letting him slip away! Is this because of the tabloid thing last week?"

Laura scoffed, "no. I forgot all about it." Maybe it was Bruce's imagination, but she sounded reminisce.

"Are you worried about getting kicked off the board? They wouldn't fire you if it was an actual working relationship."

"I know Ang, I know," Laura sounded tired.

"C'mon, you guys make the cutest couple and you'd be so adorable together! He's gorgeous, you're available, and you like him to boot! What more do you need then that?"

No answer.

"Ask him on a date."

A short sigh. "No, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Cause then I'm just like every other girl who wants him for his money or for the publicity or… God, its Bruce Wayne Ang. He's the guy our mothers warned us about."

"But you like him! Admit it!"

A moment's pause. "Yeah, I do. I guess that just freaks me out more than anything. We're not supposed to fall for guys like that."

"So we're falling now huh?"

"Shut up," Laura bit back.

"Laur, take a walk on the wild side. It won't kill you. You can drive in busy traffic downtown and stand up to anyone who ticks you off. You have guts. Don't step down because of what might happen."

Another pause and a disbelieving answer, "are we having a moment?"

"Shut up!" The two laughed. "Ask him out."

"I'll think about it."

Heavy sigh. "Fine."

"Is this why you guys were late? You wanted me to get all bright eyed with Bruce Wayne?"

"Or something else," the innuendo made them both laugh. They had a moment's silence until Angie started talking excitedly. "Okay, I can't help it, don't tell Roger I told you this!"

"What?"

"The PR on the hospital went way up when you and Bruce were in the tabloids. Like, it was huge. And the donations even went up too." Angie's voice was excited; but Laura didn't say anything.

"Is this why you want us to get together?" her voice was suspicious and accusing.

"No, you guys really do make a cute couple and it's time you got yourself a man. But Roger did have me tell you two the wrong time."

"What?" Laura sounded mad.

"What?" Angie sounded genuinely confused.

"You let me sit here and make awkward small talk to increase PR? That's your boyfriend's job Ang, not mine!"

"Laura why are you upset? I let you spend an extra hour with Bruce Wayne. I thought you would be at least a little grateful."

"Grateful? You used me!" Bruce heard her bag hitting her leg as she walked away; but as he was about to dive out of the way he realized she was going around the other side of the court.

"Laura, its Bruce Wayne!"

"For the love of God stop saying that!" The door slammed shut behind her and when Bruce peeked his head around the corner he saw Angie follow, his sweatshirt held in one hand.

Another thing about fighting crime. It's not hard to tell what a drug lord's reaction will be when you destroy his organization. It's people who claim good intentions who have ulterior motives you have to watch out for.


End file.
